Fifty-five
Sarah
Light punished my eyes as they cracked open, dry and stinging. My surroundings swirled as if I were underwater. It felt like I’d awaken from the dead. Where was I? I rubbed my eyes.
Peter.
I bolted upright with a gasp, wide awake in a single heartbeat.
I scanned the bedroom of the fifth wheel, my heart falling when I realized I was alone. The blanket pooling over my lap revealed my skimpy tank top and underwear. And then I remembered I deliriously demanded Peter undress me last night.
And he did. So sweetly, too.
Where was he? What time was it? Was he working today? Where was my backpack?
Questions mounded.
My feet slipped to the cool floor and I found my backpack propped against the wall beside my bed.
Quickly, I pulled on a pink crewneck sweater and flare jeans, freshened up in the bathroom, then walked to the common area of the fifth wheel.
My heartbeat jumped to my throat, pulsing at the base of my neck when my eyes landed on Peter, who was now wearing an old hoodie and gray sweats.
He had his arms folded across his chest, his head tipped back on the edge of the couch, and AirPods in his ears.
His eyes were closed, the ends of his dark lashes brushing the top of his freshly shaven cheeks.
My heart thumped harder. Oh, I wanted to be close to him.
I took a step toward the couch and the floor gave a loud creak of protest. Peter’s eyes fluttered open and he sat up, pulling the AirPods out of his ears. “Sarah?”
An unbidden smile curled into my cheeks.
He wasn’t missing anything anymore.
Peter’s counselors at the rehabilitation center said that most people who lost their sight would eventually get in tune with their surroundings by using their other senses. Some people were able to make the transition very quickly, but others took months. Some took years.
Apparently, Peter was in the years camp.
But, a smile hung, plastered on my face, because Peter had arrived. What was it he’d said about me last night? That he knew I was tired because I was dragging my feet? I shook my head, amazed.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice raspy.
His smile broke free. “More like good afternoon.”
“No way. What time is it?”
He woke up his phone screen and turned it so I could read the time.
“2:53 p.m.?! I can’t believe I slept all day.”
Peter stood. “I’m glad you slept. How are you feeling?”
I took stock, noting how heavy my limbs felt. My throat was scratchy, my nose burned, and my eyes stung. After the initial rush of excitement faded away, I realized I was still so tired I could hardly stand straight. “Honestly? Exhausted.”
“Maybe you need some coffee?” Peter easily strode around the coffee table and tapped a button on the coffee pot, which instantly started the brew. As if he’d had it waiting for me.
Then he moved to a basket on the counter. “I fell asleep last night on the couch down here—hope that’s okay. I didn’t even change my clothes. I woke up around six o’clock this morning and went up to the bunkhouse to shower and change and then came back down to find all this food.”
He set it on the coffee table, revealing an appetizing array of packaged items. Instantly, I recognized my hunger. Saliva pooled in my mouth.
“Hollie put some fruit, yogurt, and cheese danish in the fridge. Then there’s granola bars, pretzels, oatmeal packs, and trail mix. And she said we can come up to the big house for a hot meal at any point, and she’ll make whatever we want.”
“That’s kind of her.” I picked through the basket, selecting a trail mix with chocolate chips. “Danish and yogurt sounds perfect though.”
He smiled and opened the fridge, taking out two yogurt parfaits in glass jars.
He set them on the coffee table with two spoons then lined two paper plates with cuts of danish, clusters of grapes, and sliced strawberries.
His movements were rushy, eager. He dropped a couple things and had to search around once or twice to find what he needed, but a soft smile stayed on his face, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been waiting for this moment, excited to do these things for me.
So I didn’t offer to help. I just watched as I chewed almonds and chocolate.
When was the last time Peter did something for me?
I wished I hadn’t asked myself that question because the answer made my nose sting and my eyes tingle.
When the coffee pot beeped, he grabbed mugs from the cabinet, and slowly poured us both a cup. Then he added cream to mine. Just enough, too.
His eyes were bright when he turned to face me, easing the mugs down to the coffee table. “I’m not near the edge, am I?”
“No where close.” My words wavered, and I was surprised by the emotion lacing them.
“How’s your cream look?” The bottom of the mugs gently kissed the table.
“Perfect.” But my voice caught over the word. “Thank you—so much.” I tried to sound peppy, but Peter’s brow instantly furrowed. He’d heard the catch in my voice, too.
“You okay?” He asked. The couch lurched, leather squeaking as he sat down next to me.
“I’m fine.” I waved him off but it was no use.
“Sarah—”
“I promise I’m good. I just got…got a little…” My voice lost the battle, tears bitterly rising to my throat. Suddenly angry, I growled in frustration. “I don’t want to cry again—sorry.” I took a gulp of air. “All I’ve done the whole damn week is cry. And I’m sick of it.”
A dense quiet settled over us as steam curled into the atmosphere, skimming off the top of our coffee mugs. The heavy silence was awkward, different from our bubbling, tentative excitement last night. There was a lot of ground to cover, and I suddenly felt so weary.
Then Peter’s hand slipped around the back of my shoulder, applying just enough pressure to break me. His voice was soft. “Why have you been crying all week?”
Forcing the words out hurt the tendons in my neck. “There’s so many reasons. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Just start with one.”
“Fine—I cut my hair,” I blurted. “Tonya told me to get a pixie cut and I listened to her.”
“Okay. Keep going.”
“My dad was hospitalized with alcoholic hepatitis a couple weeks ago.” I played with my hands in my lap.
“I had no idea. Is he alright?”
“No.” I shook my head. “His alcoholism is killing him. Of course, Mom doesn’t want to admit the truth to herself because she’s been enabling him for so long. He’s out of the hospital now, but it won’t be long before he’s back.”
“Did you see them?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I sat with them for a while. Seeing Mom was awful like always.”
If anyone understood how I felt about my mom, it was Peter. I didn’t have to explain. After I was quiet for a moment, he prodded me. “What else, Sarah?”
“I’m tired. I’ve been working way too much and not taking care of myself just like Mom. I’ve lost weight and my clothes don’t fit right but I can’t make myself sit down and rest or eat like a normal human because there’s something wrong with me, I guess.
“And I started shopping with Instacart.” I snorted at how ridiculous it sounded. “I hate it. The people are rude and I run orders late at night because it means…it means I don’t have to be at home.”
His voice tightened too. “Why don’t you want to be at home?”
“Because I feel so guilty.” My voice cracked.
He sounded genuinely surprised. “Guilty?”
I swallowed, losing my fight against my tears. “I—I slapped you.”
His eyes softened with knowing.
“There’s no excuses.” I heaved a breath. “I cannot even tell you how every part of that slap—the way it sounded, how your face looked afterward, the way my hand stung—has haunted me. It was so—hateful and I haven’t been able to sit alone with myself ever since. I’m sorry, Peter—I’m so sorry.”
“Sarah—”
But I wasn’t done. “Then I filed for a divorce. It was the wrong thing to do. I dipped into our savings for something I never truly wanted.”
“You never wanted a divorce?”
I shook my head. “No, Peter. I already emailed my attorney and told her to cancel everything. But in the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. Like the next step to take.” Tears bubbled out of me.
“I saw my mom, and she looked so bad. And my Dad never takes care of her—I don’t think he even loves her.
And sitting there while she looked through me like I didn’t exist was so upsetting.
And I started feeling like that with you, and I was so worried I’d turn into her. ”
A light frown rested on Peter’s brow as he struggled to keep up with my train of thought.
“And then Tonya said I was just like mom—obsessed with a man to the point that I lost myself. I got so scared that I called an attorney the next morning. But then I met this client who takes care of her husband who has Parkinson’s disease and we talked about being selfless in love… then I got your voicemails…”
“Wait.” His eyes brightened. “You got my voicemails?”
“All of them. I listened to them all.”
“What? When?”
I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “Friday. When I got your letter.”
“I had no idea they were going through.”
“I didn’t realize either until I Googled whether a blocked phone number could still leave voicemails.
Then I found them in a special folder.” A smile somehow broke through my onslaught of tears.
“I loved them. They were so precious. They made me laugh and cry and feel so many things. But the last one, Peter…” I shook my head, disgusted with myself.
“I gave up on you. I left you in Texas and then tried to end our marriage. And—” I softly rapped my heart with my fist, adding counterpressure to the pain blooming there.
“I can hardly breathe knowing I did that. You never would’ve given up on me. Never.”
“Sarah—”
“Even the fact that I blocked you—it was so childish, Peter. I’m sorry. We could’ve avoided all this if I had just picked up the phone and talked to you and—”
“No.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t agree. We couldn’t have avoided this.”
I sniffed, confused. Why would he say that?